


Simply

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, Hand & Finger Kink, Handcuffs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1203265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim indulges in Spock’s sensitive hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simply

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: "Drabble" for “Jim makes Spock cum just by sucking on his fingers” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s good to be the captain. 

When he reaches the brig, it’s just as ordered: all guards off duty and all doors sealed, the one he stepped through closing neatly behind him. They don’t have any prisoners and aren’t expecting any this mission; it’s a simple transport route that’s left him somewhat bored. Fortunately, Jim’s perhaps over-active imagination does a decent job of keeping things exciting. Today, he’s left his interests in Bones’ hands. 

He finds his package where promised, neatly tied to a pole in the corner. Jim would’ve done it himself, but that would ruin his entrance. He probably wouldn’t have made it all the way, anyway. Jim strolls over to it as slow as he likes, eyeing his prize up and down. 

When he stops about a meter away from the post, Spock says dryly, “Captain, I would appreciate if, in the future, you refrain from involving Dr. McCoy in your games.” But from where he is, effectively bound to the post, he’s hardly in a position to protest. He’s facing Jim, leaning against the pole so it digs into his chest, his hands handcuffed in front of him. Even fully dressed, he’s a very intriguing sight. 

Jim takes that final step and reaches a hand for Spock’s hip, squeezing lightly as he purrs, “ _Our_ games.” Spock lifts an eyebrow by way of disagreement. Jim just grins; he never expects outward enthusiasm from Spock, even if he can sense it below the skin. He leans forward around the post, only about a dozen centimeters thick, and presses a kiss to Spock’s cheek. He lingers, enjoying the telling way that Spock doesn’t pull aside. 

When Jim’s done, Spock turns his face as though expecting his lips to be rewarded next, but Jim pulls back. Spock’s slightly parted mouth closes instantly, as though he never expected anything. 

“It doesn’t have to be just _my_ game,” Jim sighs. “In fact, I had you brought here and done up like this for a very specific purpose, one entirely meant for _you_.”

“I do not enjoy playing the part of a prisoner,” Spock replies, though his tone and expression make it clear that he doesn’t _dislike_ it. They both know he’ll indulge Jim whether or not he has a penchant for the current game. Jim’s grin grows. 

He pets Spock’s hip, drifting slowly around to cup Spock’s taut ass, and he strokes there while he explains, “You’re not a prisoner, darling.” Another kiss to Spock’s cheek that Spock tries to turn into. “I simply wanted your hands presented to me, and there are no suitable poles in my room. I might’ve found somewhere on the bridge, but I can hardly clear that out... and we can’t have the crew knowing about my blatant favouritism, now can we?” He smirks at Spock’s disapproving frown—perhaps Jim shouldn’t have one, but of _course_ he’s Jim’s favourite. By light years, with no contest. Jim reluctantly lets go of Spock’s rear. 

He instead grasps Spock’s wrists, cold with the metal cuffs around them and yet warm by contrast, and he holds Spock’s hands up to face level. Spock looks at him curiously; Jim grins with wicked mischief. 

Holding both hands out, Jim presses a firm, lengthy kiss to each of Spock’s palms in turn. Then he decides he’ll start with the left one—work his way over to the Spock’s preference. His other hand shifts to help hold just the one wrist, and he lightly runs his thumbs over the bottom of Spock’s hand. He ghosts over the light curves, drinking in the way Spock suddenly shivers, the way his fingers twitch and stiffen. Jim leans in to press his tongue against the base of Spock’s thumb—Spock whispers, “ _Jim_...”

It might be a warning, but Jim’s never been good at heeding those. 

Jim knows all about Vulcans’ sensitive hands. He’s always had a keen interest in any Vulcan information he can get his hands on, but the taboos are what really draw him in—those embarrassing spells that every race has. He’s experimented in bed enough to know just what works on his particular Vulcan, but, as Spock must appreciate, he needs a pure test before he can validate his hypothesis. That means drawing his tongue up the line of Spock’s thumb torturously slowly, indulging in the bland but salty taste. Spock’s fingers have always seemed especially long, thick and lean, like the rest of him. They’re elegant, skin a bit yellowish, green veins lurking beneath thin skin. Jim licks at the joint, tracing each subtle line with the tip of his tongue, and then he’s finally continuing upward, teeth scraping over Spock’s nail. Spock has a sharp intake of breath; Jim knows this is a good idea. 

He licks his lips and opens his mouth, hovers tantalizingly over his target, then slips forward, blowing warm breath over it. He waits until he’s all the way down before he closes his mouth, lips locking around the base, tongue trailing up and down within the confines of his mouth. He blows once, then sucks, sucks harder, and then he lifts half off and pushes back down, screwing on. Spock makes a strangled noise that he’s clearly tried to muffle but hasn’t managed. Taking mercy, Jim slides off again. 

Jim wriggles his tongue between Spock’s index and middle finger, running along the ‘v’ while he murmurs, “You have _very_ nice hands, Commander.”

Spock mumbles, “Captain...” When Jim manages to look up, Spock’s eyes look a little cloudy. His tongue peaks out between his lips, almost like a reflection of Jim’s own nervous habit. “What you are threatening to do...” Spock bites off a gasp as Jim dives down Spock’s index finger; he’s not _threatening_ , he’s _doing_. “It is unhygienic...”

Jim pops off to smile against Spock’s palm, and he holds it close while he speaks into it, every breath drifting along Spock’s skin. “Yes, it’s very, very dirty, but you’re a naughty boy—you don’t mind...”

“Jim...”

“You’re a filthy Vulcan,” Jim hisses, and he laves his tongue all across Spock’s lifeline, evoking a barely repressed shiver. “And you like playing dirty with your captain, don’t you?” Spock parts his lips, like he wants to say more, but Jim scrapes his teeth down of Spock’s wrist, and the protest dies into a nod. Jim has to fight to keep his smirk in check; he doesn’t want to push it _too_ far. “Good boy. Just relax. Enjoy yourself. You have a gorgeous lover wanting to show your pretty hands a good time, and you need to shut up and take it.”

Eyelids drifting down to half-mast in the midst of Jim tonguing the groove between the cuffs and his wrists, Spock nods dazedly. He’s always been a good officer. He quiets as Jim kisses a deliberately sloppy train back up to his middle finger and descends on it, lavishing it in just as much attention as the others. He scrapes his teeth lightly over the joint and idly plays with Spock’s other fingers, forcing his ring finger to bend, then straighten out. Jim toys a bit with Spock’s pinkie, tracing up and down and around it and moving it back and forth, then sets into kneading Spock’s palm. He massages Spock’s flesh while he kisses and sucks other parts, and when his eyes dart down, he catches Spock’s hips pressing a bit too close to the pole. Jim smiles around his mouthful; he’s winning. 

He leaves lots of saliva behind when he pulls off, just to makes Spock feel extra dirty. As he nips at Spock’s ring finger, he holds his own thumb and index finger together, forming a hole to fit down over Spock’s thumb. He pistons it up and down while he showers the other end of Spock’s hand with attention, effectively sparking heat and friction and essentially fucking his fingers with Spock’s. His leftover spit acts as lube. He can’t help but smile at his own lewdness. He watches the front of Spock’s pants grow, and by the time Jim’s moved over to Spock’s pinkie, Spock’s hips are clearly trying to refrain from humping the pole. Spock’s at his prettiest when he’s _desperately needy._

Finally finished with the left hand, Jim moves on to the right. Spock makes a sharp keening noise that punctuates the air, making Jim’s own cock fill from the sound alone. He doesn’t have a thing for hands, but making Spock writhe so easily? That gets to him. Hearing Spock whine and seeing Spock squirm gives him a sick pleasure. He glances up again to see Spock’s eyes scrunched closed, mouth open, lips wet like they’ve been licked recently. He’s breathing faster, shallower. Jim traces his tongue over the groove beneath Spock’s fingernail, expecting the faint taste of dirt but finding it ridiculously clean. That’s his Spock. He smiles proudly as he engulfs Spock’s hand and goes to town with his tongue—wild, relentless licks that turn Spock’s pathetic noises up a notch. He grits his teeth, clearly trying to stop them, but it isn’t working. Glancing down again, Jim finds Spock’s erection grinding into the pole. He’s trying to be subtle, but it’s not working. His hips are shuddering. Jim pulls off and places a few kittenish licks up between index and middle finger, then pushes them together, holding them like he’s now glued them in place. He holds them and he waits. 

A few seconds later, Spock’s eyes open. His pupils are heavily dilated, lids heavy, cheeks stained a lovely shade of green. His eyebrows knit together—one of the cuter looks in Spock’s repertoire that Jim always enjoys. Holding Spock’s full attention, he holds his mouth open and takes hold of Spock’s wrist, pushing it forward. 

He pushes Spock’s two fingers into his mouth, and he moves Spock’s hand around to encourage movement. He closes his lips around them but leaves them to explore, and he starts to bob his head up and down. His teeth scrape along his undersides, the blunt nails tapping once or twice against the roof of his mouth. He sucks and he looks at Spock pointedly, just waiting for Spock to break. 

Spock curls his fingers suddenly and does, skating along the back of Jim’s teeth. Jim holds his head still and grins encouragingly, while Spock builds up to more and more, shifting to trace every bit of Jim that he can. A few seconds later and he’s vigorously fucking Jim’s mouth with his fingers, switching angles and stroking odd places and exploring everywhere—things he’s felt with his tongue put never his bare skin. He’s gone from grinding to thrusting, humping the pole like a dog. Jim gives his fingers a final suck, then pulls off with an obscene, wet ‘pop.’

Spock moans brokenly, nearly whimpering at the loss. Jim soothes him by coming back to Spock’s right ring finger and tonguing it. This time, Spock’s an active participant, moving and thrusting wantonly against Jim’s lips. Jim’s an indulgent lover, and he accommodates as best he can. Then Spock moans, “ _Jim_...” and it’s time to switch up again. 

Spock’s getting close, very, very close; he can tell. He folds in Spock’s fingers and turns Spock’s hand, finally reaching Spock’s knuckles. These he kisses affectionately, long and hard, then sets to licking. His eyes lock on Spock’s, holding them. Spock’s breathing is erratic. Even the bridge of his nose is green. Jim has half a mind to lean forward and lick it, but he’s got a boyfriend to send over the edge. 

He straightens out Spock’s fingers again, both sets, and Spock obeys right away. Jim holds them together, and he tilts sideways, running his tongue all across them like licking a piano. Spock gasps loudly. Jim goes back the other way, tongue pressing hard and lingering on every last groove. When he hits the end, he slips onto Spock’s pinkie. 

Spock comes immediately. He screams, face scrunching together, and Jim glances down in time to see the sudden wet patch spread over the front of his pants. Normally, Jim would stroke Spock through them, encourage every last drop he could, but today he simply licks away at Spock’s palms, milking it out that way. Spock’s hips spasm, and his scream dies into a groan. As soon as Jim lets go, Spock’s hands are slipping down. 

_Spock_ slips down. He falls to his knees, still bound to the pole, and he shivers there, green right to the tips of his ears. He looks thoroughly debauched: just how Jim likes him. 

Jim sinks down beside him and murmurs, “You’re beautiful.” He kisses Spock’s burning ear and cups Spock’s cheek, always there when nothing’s left but the shame. Spock’s still trembling in his grip. 

Then Spock presses forward to nuzzle into Jim’s neck, and Jim arches around the pole to give more room. He scoops up Spock’s waist, leaning into it, and even though he’s hard himself, he waits and luxuriates in Spock’s dizzy aftermath. 

Eventually, Spock breathes, “Thank you, Jim.”


End file.
